Gooseberry Island, Westport, Massachusetts
Winter brings windy chills to the rugged, coastal walks.
Zigzags make me look down at the pebbles,
with each step,
a discovery of its own.
Along with the birds, upward and around.
They are ready for harsh reality of the place, vivaciously fulfilling their lives' purpose.
And the ocean stays with them...
Gooseberry Island, Westport, Massachusetts
Walking along a windy, rough coast does not spark hopes of seeing anybody.
But they are here.
A sizable group of sandpipers almost invisible among rocky pebbles,
yet illustrious as a singular energy stream when taking off.
Such a delight to see them in the air as a unit
and it amazes me
how they leave their individuality and plunge into synchrony with others. How is it possible?
In his book The Outermost House, Henry Beston asks himself a similar question:
... is there some psychic relation between these creatures?
Does some current flow through them and between them as they fly?
I guess, we may never know...
... For the animal shall not be measured by man.
In a world older and more complete than ours, they move finished and complete,
gifted with extensions of the senses we have lost or never attained,
living by voices we shall never hear...
